


The thrones we choose

by rydia



Series: Daughter of the rain and snow [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 21:21:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18213788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rydia/pseuds/rydia
Summary: Maeryn never wanted to see Alistair on the throne.But she still had an illicit fantasy to actually... see him on the throne. Every bit of him. And to enthusiastically show him how much she appreciated him.Idle thoughts couldn't do any harm, could they?Set at the end of Origins. With the archdemon defeated and the Blight ended, it’s time for Ferelden to crown its new monarch.





	The thrones we choose

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a writing exercise to practice writing smut, which I find very hard (that's what she said). It got away from me a little, because I love these two. But still... smutty.

It was a heady feeling, to be on her knees in front of the throne of Ferelden, looking up at the king from between his legs. Strong legs, capable of trekking all over Ferelden while clad in heavy armour, looking good the whole time. Though now those legs were clad only in light trousers, and as she’d been so eager to unlace those trousers, Maeryn had an eyeful of the king’s straining erection.

 _Ferelden’s finest_ , Maeryn thought.

Her lips twitched in juvenile amusement.

“Is this amusing you?” The king’s voice was quiet, but pitched low with arousal, and she squirmed, her own desire running high. It had been a long day, and they’d spent most of it teasing each other.

Still, she had to press her lips together and drop her eyes, because if she wasn’t careful she _was_ going to laugh and ruin this. 

The thrill of what they were doing was making her giddy. They were in the throne room of Denerim’s palace. Alistair sat, wide-legged, on the Ferelden throne – a throne which Maeryn personally thought was ridiculous. It was huge, for one thing, and seemed to have countless mabari heads carved into its legs, arms and across its tall back. Heavy, lush furs covered the seat of the throne. It absolutely dominated the whole room – but that was the point of a throne, of course. 

Maeryn thought it was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. Probably a very unpatriotic thought.

The throne room was empty – it was the dead of night – and she knew they had enough time to do… _this_ before the next time the guards did their rounds, so long as they were quick. It _was_ entirely possible that the security in the palace was a little too lax, but that wasn’t Maeryn’s problem. 

It also still didn’t negate the danger of being caught. Anyone could still walk in and see them. 

This was a risky game. But it was fun, and fun wasn’t something they got to experience all that often.

She should, however, stop wasting time. 

Raising her eyes coyly, she met Alistair’s gaze. It was full of mock reproach and it almost set her to laughing again. But one of his hands left the arm of the throne where it had been sitting on a carved mabari head to gently hold the hair at the back of her head, encouraging her further upwards towards him and bringing her closer to his erection. She went willingly.

He was always so gentle. Even when he _wasn’t,_ he was; even when he was losing himself in passion, he never, ever forgot his strength or forgot to check she was okay. Even when he was doing something as crass as guiding her mouth to his cock so she could suck him off, he was gentle. 

Maker, but she loved him. 

Her position more to his liking, his hand left her hair and his fingers trailed along the shell of her ear, making her shiver, before he reached down and pulled at the string of her sleeping robe, opening the collar wide and loose and dragging it down so that it hung off one shoulder, exposing a breast. The room was cool, all the fires long since put out, and goosebumps spread along her skin, but she was too turned on to feel cold. 

Maeryn looked up at him again, and got a charming smile in return. “You know,” Alistair said conversationally, not entirely masking the need underneath, “it’s really very rude to not answer when your king addresses you.”

Maeryn blinked. What had he said to her? She’d completely forgotten, too on edge from what they were doing, where they were doing it, and her own arousal. What was wrong with her to find the phrase ‘ _your king_ ’ such a turn on? Seriously, what was wrong with her? Though perhaps it was just Alistair’s effect on her – he could say ‘potatoes for dinner?’ and she’d find that a turn on, too. 

She deferentially lowered her eyes, fighting back a smile again. “I’m sorry, your Majesty,” she murmured, eye to… eye, so to speak, with his cock again. 

“I asschk–” Whatever he was going to say ended up garbled and lost along with his kingly composure as Maeryn took him in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock. His hips canted forward involuntarily, pushing him further into her mouth, and Maeryn braced herself on his thighs, pausing to get her bearings, breathing in through her nose. 

Alistair hissed out an apology, and his hand once again returned to the back of her head, his fingers gently running through her hair. He didn’t pull her away or push her further down his length, though when her eyes flicked back up to his she could see the need written all over his face, his chest heaving, a flush she could make out in the dim light running from his cheeks right down his body. Using both of his hands, he gathered her hair away from her face, allowing him to see exactly what she was doing. 

She kept her eyes on him as she got to work, pulling off him for a brief second only to drag his trousers a little further down his legs to allow her better access. 

Now the royal bottom sat completely bare on the furred seat of the Ferelden throne, and this time when she took him in her mouth, she went deeper, slowly enveloping him in her hot mouth, her eyes never leaving his. Alistair’s hands in her hair tightened, and he hissed in a breath, obviously trying to keep himself quiet. Setting up a steady rhythm, Maeryn used a hand on the rest of his length, slicking it with her saliva, before sliding down to play with his balls. 

She loved the feel of him. Thick and solid. Familiar to her by now. This wasn’t the first time she’d lovingly traced every inch of him with her tongue. But it never got old, and she could _never_ get enough of him. 

Admittedly, she’d love the feel of him even more somewhere _else_ , and she clenched just thinking about it. But right now this was more than fine, and she lost herself for a moment, forgetting even that they were in a precarious place. All she focused on was Alistair; his taste, his scent, concentrating on using her tongue and breathing through her nose, letting the swelling head of his cock hit the back of her throat and using her hands on his balls and the base of his shaft. His breathing grew harsher, his body tensed like a coil ready to spring, and she knew he was close. The hands in her hair clenched tighter, and she sped up, bobbing up and down on his cock with deliberate movements, moaning around him. 

“Mae!” Alistair’s voice was strained and far louder than was safe, but she knew that was his warning that he was about to come. When he did, it was powerful, his body jerking forward, his cock hitting the back of her throat again as he spurted his release in hot waves. Maeryn kept her mouth on him, swallowing every last drop as best she could, still watching Alistair’s face. 

He looked magnificent – his head thrown back in pleasure, his mouth open wide in a silent moan, all those delicious muscles in his arms flexing and straining. He was still holding her hair tightly, but slowly his hands unclenched to smooth out her hair. 

When he finally relaxed, although still trembling a little with the aftershocks, Maeryn pulled away from him, delicately wiping her mouth and licking her lips. Alistair opened his eyes and gently cupped her cheek, a sated grin on his face.

“Was that satisfactory, your Majesty?” She asked demurely. 

Her words made Alistair start and sit upright. “Oh.” His expression darkened, and he glanced around the empty throne room like he’d just remembered where they were. Standing abruptly, his hand dropped from her face. “We should get back to our room.”

For a second, Maeryn was frozen, surprised at his sudden change in mood – and also a little dismayed, especially when Alistair had appeared to be enjoying their silly game so much. A flicker of anxiety flared in her stomach despite the fact that he was probably right – they were going to get caught if they stayed much longer. 

So she said nothing for now, allowing Alistair to help her to her feet and feeling momentarily awkward as she attempted to cover herself up, readjusting her long robe. Alistair did the same, quickly lacing up his trousers haphazardly and throwing on his shirt that had been discarded at the base of the throne. When they were ready, he took her hand and they silently crept back to their quarters, easily dodging the few guards along the way. The palace was still, everyone sleeping heavily after a day of celebrations. 

Technically, the room they were returning to was Maeryn’s. She was the new Warden Commander of Ferelden, and she was the one who had slain the archdemon right here in Denerim, at the top of Fort Drakon. People kept calling her a hero, and she wasn’t sure how to react to that. But consequently, she’d been given plush accommodations right in the heart of the palace’s guest wing. A huge mark of respect, to be sure, although Maeryn could have done without some of the comments she’d received about how much of an honour it was for _someone like her._ She was never quite sure if it had to do with her being an elf or a mage or possibly just both. 

Alistair’s room was also in the palace, but in a more out of the way wing, and much smaller than Maeryn’s. He may also have been one of the Wardens who ended the Blight, but Queen Anora – despite her recent coronation – was still wary of the known royal bastard even if he had turned down the crown. 

Anora also wasn’t exactly fond of the man who had slain her father. Which was understandable, even if Maeryn hated Loghain for what he had done almost as much as Alistair. She’d shed no tears over his death. 

So Alistair was keeping up appearances and at least pretending to sleep in his own room, mostly, but Maeryn suspected everyone probably knew about their relationship. She couldn’t bring herself to care, though. None of these nobles mattered to her, and she could only hope that they’d soon be out of Denerim.

It didn’t take them long to reach her room. The fire was still burning, a few candles were lit and the room was welcoming. In truth, they hadn’t been gone _that_ long. But Alistair remained tense, and Maeryn worried silently as she followed him in and closed the door behind her softly. Leaning against it, she watched him blow out the candles, leaving only the fire to provide light.

“We should sleep,” he said, unusually gruff. 

Maeryn frowned at his back. He wouldn’t look at her, and she was surprised that he wasn’t talking when something was clearly wrong. Out of the two of them, she was the one who tended to keep things to herself. Alistair was always more open. And he’d been the one to pull the stupid fantasy out of her that had led to their late night shenanigans in the throne room, after all. 

Was it something to do with that fantasy that was bothering him? That she’d been thinking of him as king when he’d never wanted that and had always been vehement that he never wanted it? Or was it something to do with him sitting on the throne that he’d rejected? 

Logically, she knew that the throne of Ferelden was just a fancy chair – really, that’s all any throne was. Alistair actually sitting on it wouldn’t make him regret not becoming king, surely? But had he sat on that mabari and fur covered monstrosity that generations of his ancestors had and realised he’d made a mistake? It’s not like it was imbued with magical powers that called to those with royal blood. 

And yet…

“Alistair, what’s wrong?” She moved towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and she could feel how tense he was.

A feeling of dread began bubbling up in her, the same feeling she’d had when she realised Eamon was pushing Alistair to take the throne. It was a sickening feeling, borne out of her greatest fear – that she would lose him. 

-

Maeryn wasn’t quite sure how it had escalated to this.

But she knew how it started.

They were at Anora’s coronation and the surrounding festivities; guests of honour in hastily procured shiny new armour – after all, they couldn’t be seen in the same battered and tarnished armour they’d been wearing to actually fight darkspawn in. 

The Denerim throne room had also been given a similarly hasty makeover. New fabrics and furnishings were brought in, and one of the older portraits replaced with a hastily commissioned large work of Cailan and Anora, lest anyone forget her royal claim through her late husband. The throne itself had been carefully polished, and the nicks and breaks in the elaborately carved mabari heads had been fixed or covered up. The seat of the imposing throne was now covered in a plush new fur.

Maeryn idly wondered what it was made from. Hopefully not from actual mabari fur. That seemed wrong. 

In this throne, Anora sat, crown upon her head, coronation robes on, sceptre in hand. She looked every inch a queen, managing to not even look dwarfed by the imposing throne. Maeryn might not like the woman very much, but she respected her.

And by Maeryn’s side was her fellow Warden; the man who was almost king. 

She wondered what Alistair was thinking as he watched Anora sit on the throne that could have been his. 

While Maeryn had no regrets about how things had turned out, this decision had been one she’d struggled with, even though Alistair had always been clear he didn’t want the throne. But she could see what the _right_ thing to do was, the fairytale ending: Alistair should be king. In a time of tragedy and strife, this forgotten prince raised among the common people would rise up and take his rightful place. He would probably marry the beautiful widowed former queen and they would rule together, bring Ferelden to a golden age, and live happily ever after.

Maeryn had seen how it could be, how the bards and storytellers and people like Eamon _wanted_ it to be. 

But not Alistair.

And not her. Because she had no place in this fairytale end. The helpful mage and elf, eager to please her betters, who had assisted the prince to his rightful place and who _got out of the way_ when she was told to do so. She knew what was expected of her. 

Maeryn had no doubt Alistair would have been a good king. He didn’t want to rule, true, but he would if he had to, and if there were no other options for Ferelden. His refusal of the crown made it easier, but the ultimate decision had somehow been placed in Maeryn’s hands, and she’d had to swallow down a slightly hysterical laugh when she had realised _she_ was going to be responsible for picking the leader of an entire country. As someone who’d often felt she’d had no choice in her own life, _this_ was what she got to choose. It was ridiculous.

And it was this that she struggled with: her own selfishness.  

She’d made Anora queen because she couldn’t face losing Alistair – because _he_ was _her_ choice. Maeryn never had much in her life to call her own and she’d certainly never had anything so important – Alistair was hers every bit as much as she was his. His reluctance and Anora’s ambition meant she could feasibly try and claim that the decision to make Anora queen had been selfless.

It had not been.

But Alistair had been so pleased and relieved that it had buoyed Mareryn and allowed her to think that it had been the correct decision to make. Alistair wanted to be a Warden – they would be Wardens _together_. Now that the archdemon was slain and they’d both actually survived – no matter _how_ they’d survived – Maeryn had to face a harsh reality. 

When she’d entered the Fade to save Connor Guerrin, the desire demon had tempted her. Unsurprisingly, it had quickly sussed her out; as much as he was her strength, Alistair was also her weakness. 

_Wouldn’t you like to keep him? I can make sure he’ll never leave you._

Maeryn was a Circle mage. The dangers of demons and the weakness of mages had been drilled into her head every day since she’d been a child. But she couldn’t lie and say she hadn’t been tempted, because she had – just for a split second, the most fleeting of seconds, before common sense kicked in.

She’d turned down the demon, of course, because Maeryn was not a fool, and because she didn’t want Alistair’s love for her to be tainted. 

That demon died at her hands. 

And she’d been proud of herself, for her strength. She was a good mage, standing firm in the face of such temptation. 

But now she was meddling in politics, again. After Orzammar she’d hoped never to be in that position again. And then there was what she’d asked Alistair to do with Morrigan…

Temptation came in many forms, and perhaps Maeryn wasn’t as strong as she’d thought. She’d sworn to herself a long time ago that she’d do whatever it took to ensure that she and Alistair would survive. And she’d kept that promise. Even if… even if…

No, it was done. She knew neither she nor Alistair had truly dealt with what had happened with Morrigan but not now, not here, not when they were both still relieved to be alive, with the Blight ended and they could think, for the first time, about their future. Her choices had given them that future.

Ultimately, the decision to put Anora on the throne was not one altruistically made, and might possibly not even be the best choice for the country. 

But it was the choice Maeryn had made and now _everyone_ had to live with it, for better or worse.

Seeing Anora sitting on her throne in all her royal state made it real in a very startling way.

And Maeryn couldn’t help but picture Alistair sitting on that throne. She shouldn’t, and she didn’t even know why she was thinking it, but once the thought was there it wouldn’t leave.

She could see it so clearly.

He’d sit tall and straight, she imagined, his legs wide, hands resting on the head of the carved mabari on each arm. A powerful pose, she decided, even while sitting. He was so handsome, of course, and he’d be all kingly and commanding and principled, like he was. 

And then she thought of what it would be like for her to drop to her knees in front of him, the king, and take him in her mouth and an unexpected bolt of arousal shot through her. 

She tried to shoo the sudden unsuitable thought away but there were a lot of nobles giving speeches to Anora’s health or whatnot and it was, frankly, boring. And when she looked at the throne all she could see was that image in her mind of Alistair sitting on it, and her rising from between his legs to sit on _him_ …

She shivered. And tried to focus. And failed. She’d been chided about her daydreaming in the Circle countless times. The First Enchanter always told her it would get her into trouble. 

He was right.

The afternoon wore on.

And on. 

Later, when they returned to their room, the first thing she did was press Alistair against back the wall to kiss him. He smiled against her lips and drew his arms around her, but pulled his mouth back from hers far too soon.

“I knew it,” he exclaimed playfully, “I _knew_ you’d been thinking dirty thoughts about me all afternoon.” 

Maeryn stilled, looking at him in disbelief. “How could you possibly know that?” 

“Because this afternoon ranks as possibly the second most boring afternoon of my life and considering I grew up in the Chantry, that’s impressive. Preachy sermons, all that. So I started paying attention to something much more interesting.” He grinned. “You.” 

She hadn’t even noticed. Alistair leaned down to kiss her neck, gently sucking and scraping his teeth along the delicate skin. Maeryn sighed, anchoring herself to him by holding onto his shoulders, and she felt him laugh against her. 

“You made exactly that noise, I don’t know how nobody else noticed,” he murmured against her skin. “And you were blushing.” He raised his head. “You looked like _exactly_ how you do right now.” He kissed her, sliding his tongue against hers and making her sigh again.

All too soon, he pulled away once more. “Mind you, I was a bit concerned,” he said mischievously. “You were staring at the throne a lot. I thought maybe you were thinking about Anora.” 

Maeryn started at the mention of the throne, and a hint of worry crossed Alistair’s face. “You… you weren’t thinking of Anora, were you?” 

“No!” She was louder than she meant to be. “Maker, no. That wasn’t…” She shook her head, not wanting to talk about her thoughts, but also wanting to reassure him. “I was thinking about you.”

The worry vanished, replaced by smugness. “Good.” He leaned into her neck again, knowing how much she loved it, and she practically melted into him as his kisses made their way up to her ear. 

When he sucked the tip of her ear into his mouth she moaned, and he pulled back _again_ , still full of mischievousness. “Soooo, what exactly _were_ you thinking about?”

Maeryn blinked at him, and began to feel a prickly knot of shame at the base of her neck. It was one thing to have a daydream, it was another to say it out loud. Considering the events of the past few weeks, her idle lusty thoughts seemed so very wrong. “It was… it was nothing, Alistair.”

Alistair just made a ‘hmm’ noise in the back of his throat, before returning his attention back to her ear, scraping his teeth from the lobe up to the pointed tip, before he spun them so she was pressed against the door. He continued his attentions to her neck and ears, and worked his leg in-between Maeryn’s thighs, who immediately began shamelessly grinding herself on him, already a writhing mass of need and wanting more.

“Please, tell me,” he whispered into her ear in a low tone, making her shudder. His hands slid down her body and grasped her hips, stilling her increasingly frantic movements against his thigh. As his lips descended down her neck again, Maeryn’s head thunked back against the door as she struggled in vain to find some release.

“Alistair!” There was a definite whine in her voice now.

“Yyyyessss?” She could feel his smile against her skin, and she groaned. 

“Please, kiss me.” 

He lifted his head so that his lips hovered just over hers. When she tried to reach forward, he backed away. At her noise of extreme frustration, he appeared to give in, leaning back in, his lips ghosting over hers. 

“Please tell me what you were thinking about, Mae. It can’t be that bad and I – we can maybe… do it?” The sudden bashfulness after all his teasing was so endearing that Maeryn relented – this was Alistair and he loved her, and she could trust him. 

So she decided to tease him right back.

She took a deep breath, still trying to shift restlessly on the thigh firmly pressed against her soaking core, and leaned into his ear.

“I was thinking about sucking your cock as you sat on the throne of Ferelden,” she whispered lowly, concerned that someone outside this room would somehow hear her extremely treasonous fantasy. 

Alistair started slightly, his eyes widening. He licked his lips. Then he swallowed heavily. “You-you were?” She could tell by the look in his eyes that he was picturing it. Now _he_ was the one shifting about. “Maker, I am going to get struck by lightning, aren’t I?”

His reaction relieved her slightly – at least he hadn’t been disgusted. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest and whispering into his ear. “Yes, but I can make that feel good, too.” You didn’t grow up in a place like Kinloch Hold and not learn a few things about magic and sex, although the one time she’d ever done it on Alistair had been accidental. He’d hit some magic spot inside her with his fingers and she’d lost control, and her magic had sparked and, well, it had been very good for everyone involved, but she’d felt terrible afterwards that she’d done it with no warning. 

Alistair had reassured her it was okay, but they’d not yet repeated it. She’d been very careful not to let it happen again – she did not like the idea of her magic being out of control. 

But Maeryn _had_ thought about it, a lot, and she wanted to repeat it. On her terms. And if she was going to be telling him about her other embarrassing fantasies, she may as well get it all out now when she was so turned on she’d lost some sense of reason. 

Alistair groaned, capturing her lips in a wild kiss. He removed his thigh, and Maeryn was going to voice her disappointment when he instead grabbed her legs to hike them up over his hips, pressing his hardness right into where she wanted him most. He walked them over to the bed, never letting his lips leave hers. Maeryn was so lost in sensation she hardly registered the change from vertical to horizontal until Alistair had settled between her legs, grinding against her and making her breath catch. 

Thankfully, they’d been able to shed the ceremonial armour some hours earlier, after the speeches and before the dinner, and were now dressed in formal wear sporting the Grey Warden colours. So it was easy enough to pull off their clothes, only slightly hampered by the fact that neither was willing to stop kissing the other. But once they were naked, Alistair pressed her back into the bed, letting his cock slide through her wetness, working them both up even more, before Maeryn locked her legs around him and he slid into her warmth, making them both moan. He quickly set a steady rhythm, Maeryn meeting every deep thrust with a gasp. 

When he felt her clenching around him, Alistair grabbed one of her hands, directing it between their bodies, his thrusts faltering for a moment. 

Maeryn, almost lost to her pleasure, wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted. But then Alistair gave one powerful snap of his hips into hers, making her cry out, and his mouth lowered to her ear. “I fancy a bit of lightning.” His voice was low, rough with arousal, and it made her shiver with delight. She loved hearing him like this.

Dutifully, she continued lowering her hand down her body, sliding over her clit, down through her wetness, and briefly touching where they were joined. Alistair groaned at the feel of her fingers, and she could tell he was getting close.

So was she, which made it hard to concentrate. The last thing she wanted was for her magic to spike out of control.

Turning her hand, she placed her palm flat on his pelvis, fingers almost touching the base of his cock, feeling them press against her own skin as he thrust forward into her again and again. Maeryn threw her head back at the feel of her own rapidly approaching orgasm, but managed to focus enough to send light sparks of lightning out. She couldn’t see them, but she could feel them dancing pleasurably along her skin, jumping between her and Alistair. Sending out more sparks with slightly more power, she directed it right at Alistair, whose head dropped into her shoulder with a loud, breathless moan, his thrusts becoming harder, and with her free hand, Maeryn held on tight, her nails digging into his skin. She gasped as she felt the frisson of the magic right inside her, and her orgasm washed over her so suddenly and powerfully her vision whited out for a moment.

Maeryn’s mouth dropped open in a silent scream as the pleasure crashed into her in powerful waves. There was still magic in her fingertips, and it was only due to many years of careful training that she mindlessly slid her hand out from between their bodies, flinging it to the side and releasing an arc of lightning that fizzed against the stone wall of the castle. 

At the same time, Alistair came, evidently just as hard as she just did. She could feel him pulsing inside her, gasping her name into her ear. It all felt endless to Maeryn, with every sense and nerve heightened, and it was some time before they both came down from their release and caught their breath.

Finally, Alistair turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss into her neck. Maeryn lazily ran her hands through his hair, feeling boneless and very, very sated. 

“Wow,” he murmured, and she hummed tiredly in agreement before turning to seek out his lips for a lazy kiss.

It didn’t take them long to fall asleep.

They didn’t notice the scorch mark on the wall until the next morning.

-

The following day continued the celebrations, but for Maeryn and Alistair it actually meant they were far idler than they were used to being. After over a year of rough living and constant fighting, suddenly being at leisure in a palace, of all places, was something of a novelty.

They had too much time on their hands, waiting for their orders from Weisshaupt to arrive.

Maybe that was why Alistair hadn’t let go of her other little fantasy – of him on the throne. And while they unfortunately couldn’t spend the entire day in bed, they had spent it teasing each other and it had all somehow culminated in them ending up in the throne room and Maeryn got to live out her little fantasy.

It had all been rather fun, she thought, until quite suddenly it no longer was, and she was left staring at Alistair’s back in their room, not knowing what was wrong with him and having no idea how to fix it.

Alistair stepped away from her, pulling off his shirt and climbing into the bed. It made her worry spike even more. The hand that had been on his shoulder dropped back to her side. He _never_ pulled away from her.

“Alistair?” 

“Can we… can we please just go to sleep?” He still wouldn’t look at her, keeping his back to her as he pulled the blankets over himself, and Maeryn, who so rarely lost her temper with him, snapped.

“No.” She marched forward and pulled the blankets off him, tossing them to the ground. 

“Wh–” Alistair turned, surprised, the words he was going to say lost when Maeryn straddled him, pushing him onto his back. She sat on his stomach, arms folded, ignoring the way her robe rode up her thighs. Maeryn knew very well he could push her off him if he wanted, but she was hoping this would be enough to break him out of whatever funk he’d gotten himself into.

“We’re not going asleep until you tell me what’s wrong.” She glared at him, holding onto her anger because it was safer to focus on than her fear. But something in his face made her waver – a vulnerability that pierced her. She turned her eyes away, swallowing heavily, trying to hide the tremble in her lips. Suddenly, like a flame had been extinguished, all her anger fled her and she was left with only sadness. “Or maybe you should just go back to your own room.”

Maeryn moved to get off him, but Alistair grabbed her hips with both hands, holding her on top of him. “No, I don’t want to leave. I– I’m sorry. I just…” He looked up at her again with that expression that made her want to cry. “I don’t feel right about what we did. It’s not right that you… I don’t want to be king and you…” He made a sound of frustration, and suddenly sat up, propping himself against the bed of the bed, still holding onto Maeryn tight so she didn’t topple over. 

She stared at him in confusion, unsure of how to respond. 

“It felt disrespectful, Mae,” he finally muttered.

She frowned. “Anora will never find out–”

“Not to Anora!” Alistair exclaimed, still clearly frustrated. “To you!” 

“To _me_?” She stared at him, still baffled, but she dropped her crossed arms to rest on his waist, fingers smoothing over his skin, bothered by how upset he was and wanting to make him feel better. “It was my idea, Alistair, and I thought you… enjoyed it?”

“I did,” he said with a blush. ”It wasn’t… what you did, and it was fun, don’t get me wrong. But…” He lifted his hands to brush loose strands of her hair behind her ears before cupping her face gently. “After… you know, it was like a cold bucket of water being thrown on me when I thought about how I spoke to you. And I know we were just pretending, but it felt wrong to sit there and act like a king when I’m not and I don’t want to be. I felt… I felt like I was no better than some of the nobles. I hate how some of them speak about you.” 

Now it began to make sense to Maeryn. For all that she and Alistair had done in stopping the Blight, there were plenty who still viewed Alistair as nothing more than a bastard and her a grasping elf. Truthfully, it made her even more glad she hadn’t made him king and forced him to live among backstabbing nobles who considered the royal blood in his veins the only redeeming feature about him. 

Anora, at least, treated both of them respectfully – even if she didn’t like Alistair – which meant that most people followed their queen’s example. And most people _were_ grateful to the two Wardens for stopping the Blight. For Maeryn, that made it easier to bear those who were nasty to her.

The other thing that allowed her to bear it was the knowledge that, all in all, it wasn’t really much different to the Circle. People were people, wherever they were, whoever they were. 

What bothered her was that Alistair was comparing _himself_ to people like that. He was better than all of them combined.

“You are _nothing_ like them,” she whispered fiercely.

“I hope that’s true,” he whispered back. “But that’s how I felt. Like I’d just taken what I wanted from you and acted like I was better than you.”

Guilt gnawed at her. She’d never considered her fantasy and their game would make him feel like this. “Then I’m truly sorry I asked you to do it.” Alistair sighed when she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“No, it wasn’t like you forced me. I think I got caught up in…everything and didn’t realise until… after.” His hands smoothed and fluttered up and down her sides. “I just don’t want to do that again. I don’t want to even pretend I’m anything other than I am, even if that’s just a bastard and a Grey Warden.” 

Maeryn pulled back, frowning. “You’re much more than that, Alistair.” 

“I’m–”

“ _You_ ,” she interrupted, “are the very best person I’ve ever known and every day I think about how lucky I am that you love me.” 

“Oh. Well.” He was blushing again, and some of the tension left his body. “Funny you should say that, because I feel the same way about you.” 

Maeryn shrugged, resisting the urge to disagree – he was a much better person than she was, but she knew Alistair would argue with her over that point. And she didn’t want to argue.

Leaning into him, she kissed his cheek. “Please don’t feel bad.” She spoke against his skin, relieved when he hugged her to him. “You have no reason to.” 

He sighed. “You aren’t regretting not making me king?”

She pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “No. You aren’t regretting that I didn’t make you king, are you?”

“Maker, no. I’m still relieved. I just hope you aren’t disappointed I don’t want to… do that again.” 

She shook her head. “It was just a silly daydream.” One she wished she’d never had. She most certainly didn’t actually want Alistair to sit on that throne for real. “And you know…” Maeryn’s voice turned suggestive as she saw a way to lighten the conversation. “I don’t need to think of you sitting on a throne to get turned on. I just need to think of _you_.” 

Alistair’s mouth quirked upwards, and his eyes dropped down to where his hands held her, watching his fingers twist the fabric, making the robe slide higher up her thighs. “Well,” he began in a voice matching hers, “what _I_ think is that you’re the one who should be worshipped like a queen.” 

She spluttered, surprised both at the sudden change in him, and by his words.

Alistair continued, his confidence returning. “It’s probably only fair I tell you, after what you told me. _All_ of those nobles should be bowing down to you. Although…” His voice grew more hesitant, and the blush came back in force, “I’d be the only one kneeling between your legs.” His hands released her robe to spread across her thighs, his thumbs stroking the inside of her legs. His gaze rose back to hers, and Maeryn stared at him with wide eyes, silently willing him to keep talking. “I think about how I want to worship you with my lips and my fingers. I probably think about how you taste far too often.”

Maeryn’s mouth dropped open, her fingers digging into his skin. Alistair’s words set alight a flame inside her and she wanted to move and shift on him to get some friction but she was also afraid that any movement would stop these delicious words that were coming out of his mouth. He’d never spoken _quite_ like this to her before.

She loved it.

“And then I think…” Alistair’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. His fingers were still dancing around her upper thighs, teasing her so close to where she wanted him. He never took his eyes off hers. “I think the best way to worship you would be for you to… to sit on my face and spread you open so I can _devour_ you.” 

Her breath hitched. She tried to say _Maker yes please_ but she seemed to be beyond words – 

“Would you like that?” Alistair sounded far too bashful considering what he’d just said.

But it allowed Maeryn to finally find her words. Or word, at least. “Yes,” she moaned out, before pitching forward to capture his lips in hers, tangling her hands in his hair. Alistair’s hands moved with purpose now, drawing up her tunic over her body until she leaned back enough for him to yank it over her head, leaving her naked. Maeryn immediately found his lips again, kissing him deeper. She moaned into his mouth as his hands played with her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples. 

When she arched into him, he pulled his hands away, much to her consternation. 

“Impatient, are we?” He asked against her lips, a smile in his voice.

“This,” she responded breathlessly, “is hardly worshipping me.” 

Alistair grinned. “Then allow me to rectify that, my lady.” He scooted himself back down on the bed so that he was lying flat, holding tight onto Maeryn’s hips to hold her steady against him. Once he’d settled, he slid his hands around to her arse, encouraging her to move forward. 

But she hesitated. Alistair had used his mouth on her countless times by now, but never in… this manner. For the first time in a very long time, Maeryn felt shy. It was still a marvel to be so intimate with Alistair – she may have been the one with more experience coming into their relationship but the often quick and furtive coupling that went on the Circle was nothing compared to this. She’d never lain herself bare – both literally and figuratively – like she had with Alistair. Occasionally, it was still a little terrifying.

Seeming to sense her hesitation, Alistair’s hands stilled for a second, before he flattened his palms against her back, running them up and down her skin soothingly. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.” 

“…I do want to.” She _really_ did. “It’s just a little more… exposed than I’m used to. Anyway,” she tried for a self-deprecating tone, one she’d probably picked up from the man she was sitting on, “you might not like the view.”

Alistair’s eyebrows raised. “Are you _joking_ me? I dream about that view.” His hands slid back down her body to her thighs, his thumbs again stroking the delicate skin on the inside of her legs, making her shiver and squirm. She could feel his cock come to life, pressing against her backside, still contained in his trousers.

“You – you do?”

“Maker, yes.” His gaze travelled down her body to her centre, and he swallowed heavily. “I love how you taste. I want to be surrounded by it.” Fingers gripped her briefly on the edge of too tight before they loosened, and he looked back up at her face, slightly apologetically. “But I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” 

Maeryn smoothed her hands across his chest, a smile creeping across her face as he spoke. She could never be uncomfortable with him, not when he spoke like that, so sincerely and passionately. “Alright,” she said breathlessly, heart thudding in her chest. Carefully, she began moving up his body, and Alistair’s eyes lit up. His hands grabbed her arse again, encouraging her to lift up until she was hovering above his face, still out of touching distance, knees on either side of his head. 

She took a deep breath, looking down at Alistair’s smiling face below her. His eyes were fixed between her legs, but as if sensing her gaze, he raised them to look her in the face. “This is the best view in Ferelden.” 

She laughed, slightly incredulously, slightly giddy. Maeryn felt her arousal licking across her skin. A slight bashfulness still lingered about the position she was in, but it was quickly being overtaken by exhilaration. 

It helped to look down and see Alistair’s reverent expression, his pupils blown wide. 

Bracing herself against the wooden headboard of the bed, she allowed Alistair to lower her further down, closer to his face. A gust of his breath hit her wet centre and she shuddered, every nerve in her body alive and singing. 

Alistair’s first touch against her with his tongue was teasing, just the barest brush against her opening, and Maeryn resisted the urge to grind down on his face. His hands still held her arse, holding her tight, and when he did it again – that gentle, teasing, _maddening_ flick of his tongue – she whimpered, digging her nails into the wood of the headboard.

He continued in this vein for some moments, his ministrations gradually becoming firmer, slowly working her up into a writhing, moaning mess on top of him. She was so wet she was dripping, and she knew her slick must be smeared all over his face, and the thought of it just turned her on more. By now, Maeryn had lost any thoughts of embarrassment, and she dropped one of her hands to land in Alistair’s sweat soaked hair, curling her fingers around the short strands gently. Her head dropped forward too, and when Alistair’s eyes rose upwards to take her in, he moaned around her, the vibrations sending shockwaves through her entire body. 

He looked like he was enjoying himself, but when he flattened his tongue against her and licked a stripe from her entrance to her clit, Maeryn couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. 

Alistair wrapped his lips around her clit and she bucked forward with a cry, now also unable to keep her hips still. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he loosened his grip on her to let her move more freely, continuing to lick and suck at her clit, before moving his mouth back to her entrance where he began fucking her with his tongue in earnest. His nose pressed into her clit and mimicked with that what he’d just been doing with his tongue; dragging it across the sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing patterns on it, while the whole time his tongue worked inside her and Maeryn lost herself completely in grinding onto his face, moans spilling out of her mouth that grew more and more pitched as he wound her tighter and tighter. She was trembling all over, her thighs locked against his head, her hand by now probably clutching his hair painfully, but Alistair never let up. He was _devouring_ her and she was loving every second of it. 

She came with a loud wail, much louder than she usually was, her hips still stuttering against Alistair’s face. He kept licking her through her release like he was determined to get every last drop from her. It seemed like it went on forever, pulses of pleasure rocking her system until she was left trembling with the aftershocks. 

Maeryn’s body sagged, but Alistair still kept ahold of her, manoeuvring her to lie down beside him so they were facing each other. She blinked at him through hazy eyes, still trying to catch her breath after her powerful orgasm. His face was flushed, and absolutely covered in her slick, and the sight of it sent yet more desire lacing through her, despite her very recent powerful orgasm.

She licked across his face, tasting herself, making Alistair start in surprise, before finding his lips and sucking his tongue into her mouth. He groaned into her, his own hips snapping forward to find friction. Maeryn pulled back with a gasp, hands finding the loose laces on his trousers and shoving them down to release his cock. 

She needed him inside her. 

Alistair was on the same page as her, fumbling awkwardly with his trousers for a moment before he managed to get them off, flinging them across the room. Then his lips were back on hers, and he pressed her into the bed, spreading her legs so he could settle between them. 

“Mae–” He gasped against her lips and she could only moan out _yes_ before he hiked one of her legs over his shoulder, thrusting into her with one snap of his hips, burying himself to the hilt. 

She wrapped her arms around him, holding on tight. They were both too wound up for any more teasing, and she welcomed the fast, hard pace that Alistair set, meeting each thrust. Her hands wound into his hair, holding his head where it pressed against the junction of her neck and shoulder, his lips feverishly kissing her overheated skin. Alistair shifted slightly, drawing back enough to sling her other leg over his shoulder and Maeryn’s moans turn to breathless gasps as he hit her even deeper, his pelvis brushing against her clit with each thrust. 

It felt incredible and she was still so sensitive from her previous orgasm that it didn’t take long before she clenched around him in another release that made her whole body shake and her toes curl. Alistair came with a muffled drawn out groan not long after, trembling as he spilled into her, his face still pressed against her skin. His hips continued to thrust weakly against her as he rode out his release, and Maeryn kept stroking her hands through his hair, wanting nothing more than to hold onto this moment, this closeness, forever.

She felt like she was made of liquid, and she guessed Alistair was feeling the same way, judging from how he fell back onto the bed beside her. Turning into him, she rested a hand on his chest, feeling the thundering beat of his heart. 

Alistair laced his fingers through hers. “That was….” He sounded tired but pleased.

“I know.” Maeryn turned her face up to his, finding him looking at her with a warm expression. “I love you,” she said suddenly, realising that she probably didn’t say it enough – it hardly seemed necessary for her to say it, the fact that she loved him was surely so obvious and clear and right. 

But she should say it more often. 

He smiled, curling his other hand around her, drawing her closer. “I love you too. I love you so much.” He paused. “You did enjoy… what I did, didn’t you?”

Maeryn laughed softly. How could he even doubt that? There was possibly still evidence of how much she’d enjoyed it on his face. “I really did. Did… you enjoy doing it?” 

“Maker, yes,” he replied reverently, his voice dropping lower. “It was incredible. All I could taste and smell and see and _feel_ was you.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he spoke. 

She thought of how her thighs had clamped around his head, engulfing him. The mere memory of it sent a shiver through her. “I was worried I might suffocate you,” Maeryn confessed.

“A risk perhaps, but what a way to go,” Alistair’s dryly replied, holding in a laugh. 

Maeryn raised her head to give him an unimpressed look, but he just grinned at her. “Come here,” he said, and she obligingly raised herself further so that he could kiss her sweetly, brushing her hair behind her ears. 

The kiss was brief, as Maeryn drew back to look him in the face. “Are you okay?”

“I am,” Alistair replied, his smile softening as he gazed at her. “So long as you definitely aren’t secretly wishing I was king.”

“I definitely am _not_.” Maeryn was emphatic in her reply, still wishing she’d never had the daydream that led to all this in the first place, not when it had upset him so. But a flicker of anxiety remained, and perhaps it would always be there whenever she thought about what she’d done to ensure her own happiness. But she kept that to herself, choosing instead to enjoy where she was and who she was with. “So I suppose we both have to be Grey Wardens together.” 

Alistair momentarily turned away from her to find the blanket she’d pulled off him earlier. He threw it over them before settling back down, and Maeryn immediately curled herself against him. “My love,” he said, “So long as we’re together.” 

With her face pressed against his chest, Maeryn hummed into his skin contentedly, beginning to doze off.

 _Together_ was all she ever wanted.


End file.
